Mina Harker: Chemist, Vampire, Woman
by Ms Ruby Blue
Summary: -CHAPTER SIX UP: LOOK FOR BONUS CHAPTER SOON!-The League's exploits from Mina's prim, ladylike, vampiric point of view, peppered with her observations and wry humor. I'm a character purist, so hopefully true to character- R&R please
1. ALL CHAPTERS modified

**A/N: So I looked over chapters 1-7 to see what I had to work with, and good news/bad news: Bad news is a skipped a scene [where Mina explains that she's a vampire, which I definitely had written out somewhere, I swear...], and had a lot of grammar/spelling mistakes, etc. Good news is that I modified all of those grammar/spelling errors, re-wrote and inserted the missing scene, and clumped everything together thus far into one giant document. Even better news is I didn't hate what I had written [a really really good sign] and even laughed at some things I wrote, which is excellent, meaning I won't re-write everything.**

**This new format means that all the other chapters are inaccurate [because of rewrites] so I took them down to make this. If you don't like it, tell me, and I'll fix everything and put it back. New chapters will not be added to this, but added as "Chapter 8" "Chapter 9" etc.**

**Bonus chapter coming I swear, as well as new chapters. Tell me what you think of the new format/edits!

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**Chapter 1**

I could hear voices coming from within the chamber. I opened the door.

"Am I late?" I asked, standing at the entrance to the library.

"A woman's prerogative, Mrs. Harker."

"Please tell me this is Harker's wife- with a sick note," groaned a voice deeper into the room.

"Sick would be a mild understatement," I replied crisply. "My husband's been dead for years."

"Gentlemen, Mrs. Wihlimena Harker. Mina's prior…acquaintance with a reluctant league member may prove useful."

_That _is_ one way to phrase it, I suppose_.

"I'm waiting to be impressed!" A petulant looking man stood next to a small stack of files, a new recruit whom I took to be our latest recruit, the intrepid Allan Quatermain.

M. redirected the room's attention. " The fate of the world is at stake. There are still two more members to recruit. The clock hands turn, gentlemen."

"Kicking us out already? A moment ago it was sherry and giggles." An invisible man tugged his collar into place, hiding his nonexistent neckline and led the gathered aboveground and into the sodden streets of London.

Following, I raised my umbrella as we exited towards a lengthy white mechanical contraption with a man stood dripping beside it.

"What in God's name is that?"

"I call it an 'auto-mobile.'"

"Yeah, but what is it?"

"The future, gentlemen. The future." The controversial Captain Nemo walked to the man standing before us. "This is my first mate."

"Call me Ishmael. Please." He gestured towards the auto-mobile, waiting for us to enter, no doubt. I cautiously looked around at the bystanders staring at the ostentatious contraption I was about to step into, and letting myself in, we roared down the streets.

**Chapter 2**

I must confess to being somewhat of a flirt.

No less a proper gentlewoman, but yes, tending to the flirtatious on occasion. It fits the wry humor that I credit for allowing me to find entertainment in certain situations that, due to my immortality, I might otherwise regard as dull or commonplace. My "playful nature," if you will –although many remain in continual disbelief that being of such a crisp and proper nature I am capable of laughter. I assure you that I am.

In such a light, perhaps it was wrong to bait Mr. Quartermain. As I glanced out the window I ignored their continued banter swiftly concluding that though Mr. Skinner may have a tendency to pry, the resulting petulance was slightly unexpected.

"You're a little testy, Mr. Q," I commented coolly.

"Mrs. Harker, I doubt if you measure danger the way I do?"

"And I imagine you have quite the library, Mr. Quartermain. All those books you must have read merely by looking at their covers."

Without hesitation he replied, "I've had women along on past exploits, and found them to be at best- a distraction."

"Do I distract you?" I asked, my eyes wide with innocence.

"My dear girl, I've buried two wives, and many lovers. And I'm in no mood for more of either."

For a fraction of a second we stared intently at each other. This was certainly not a topic I admit to have shown much, if any, interest in, but an informative one nonetheless. A silence that was broken by Mr. Skinner.

"You can send them my way then–"

"Skinner," Mr. Quatermain interjected irritably cutting him off, "shut up."

As the conversation died, so did the hum of the "auto-mobile's" driving force. Exiting, I opened my umbrella – a lady never soils her garments unless it cannot be avoided. I looked about me, the area lacking a certain charm if it had any to begin with- something I severely doubted. I approached the recruiting party at my own pace, and arrived at the scene in time to catch the last few words, taking note of who exactly it was we were to persuade to join our numbers. Certainly I had been aware of who this latest member of the League was to be, mostly due to my particular role in the persuasion, but an on-sight evaluation never did one any harm.

"M for mystery. Well I've told him and I'm telling you- I'm not interested."

"Dorian," I very nearly purred (as there is hardly another word to accurately describe the tone of voice I used). I can, in fact, be quite persuasive if the occasion presents itself; though naturally all within the boundaries of ladylike behavior.

"Mina?" He asked, managing to sound skeptical and simultaneously only half surprised. Such is the way of Dorian Gray, more than slightly irritating at times.

As I brushed past him, I felt his eyes following me. He abhorred women leading, especially in his own house I presumed. I was acutely aware that he would soon lead us to whichever room he planned on receiving –and with great relish, rejecting, no doubt– our offer. I stepped aside to allow him room to come forward, and so he did, followed by Mr. Q. and myself. I shall admit to also being of a curious nature, and this instance was no exception. My curiosity has served me well on various other occasions, and at this moment I was intent on discovering what exactly Dorian's quarters looked like. Every time our…encounters took place, they were always in my territory, never anywhere having a personal connection to Dorian; and so my interest in his home –if it could be called such– was explained. When Mr. Quartermain mentioned a picture.

"Scotch, anyone?" Skinner offered.

"Please, help yourself."

"Don't let it ruin your makeup," I added coldly. Really that man lacked any sense of manners whatsoever, as was becoming more than apparent.

We had entered what seemed to be a large library with bookshelves reaching far above us to the second floor, leaving windows of open space, save for a railing, next to the catwalk looming above, encircling us. A spiral staircase led upwards and a comfortable reading room made use of the circular space the shelves left in the middle of the room.

"I'm impressed, Mister Gray. You take Skinner's uniqueness in your stride," Captain Nemo commented.

"Yes, well, I've seen too much in my life to shock me easily," Dorian replied, glancing at me. I allowed myself to walk the fine line between ladylike behavior and crudeness, rolling my eyes. Was it really necessary for him to allude to my condition in such a fashion?

"Although I must say I was surprised to see _you_ again," he continued on.

I smirked slightly, again walking the same fine line. Ever so slightly mockingly I replied, "When our last parting was such sweet sorrow?"

"Ah, so then you're nothing more than an enticement."

I looked up, surprised. An enticement? My composure faltered, and I dared hope the vulnerability the comment evoked in me hadn't shown on my face.

"Nevertheless, your presence intrigues me."

After a pause, "They say you're indestructible, Quartermain."

"Well, a witch doctor did bless me once. I had saved his village. He said, Africa would never allow me to die."

"But you're not in Africa now."

"No."

"I confess a curiosity to what the files say about Mr. Gray," Captain Nemo interjected into the silence. "We all of us have traits useful in this endeavor- the hunter, scientist, even Skinner has stealth."

"Cheers," the invisible man replied, downing his second drink.

The captain continued. "What have you?"

"I have experience," was the unfazed reply.

"Gray and I have met before," the explorer began. "Many years ago at Eaton College."

"A lecture, no doubt," I interjected. "You the nation's hero, Dorian the eager listening boy."

"Quite the reverse. It was Gray visiting Eaton…and I was the boy." A look of shock and uncertainty passed over my face. Mr. Q's response startled me- he certainly appeared much older than Dorian. In fact, Dorian hardly looked a day older than he did the last time we had...seen each other.

Suddenly, the former rose, drawing his pistol. I reacted and stood, taking a few steps towards him.

"What is it?" I asked, wondering what he heard that the rest of us had not – that _I_ had not.

The approach of twenty or so gunmen and their leader, as became painfully apparent only moments later. We appeared to be surrounded.

"Gray?" Mr. Quartermain asked wearily.

Lazily, "They are not mine."

"They're mine." Claimed a voice atop the staircase. Clad in a silver mask and heavy furs, the well-armed man could be none other than the Fantom.

**Chapter 3**

"First meetings usually warrant introductions," Mr. Quatermain commented with unperturbed calm.

"Of course," the masked main said with a foreign inflection coloring his speech. "I am the Fantom. You are the League of so-called Extraordinary Gentlemen. Introductions made.

"Oh, and I'm scarred Mr. Quatermain, not blind. Drop the gun."

Mr. Q. did as was requested (twenty rifles aimed at one's head influence one's course of action, presumably) as the Fantom continued.

"Your mission is to stop me. That, of course, I cannot permit. So I give to you all special one-time invitation. Join me."

"You think we'll help start a war that will consume the planet?" Captain Nemo asked.

"While you profit from your arms race?" Mr. Q. continued, not expecting an answer.

His speech unfinished, the Fantom began to descend the flight of stairs.

"I cannot deny that fortunes are made in war. Imagine the riches a world war will yield."

Mr. Skinner turned. "He's not wrong. Mm."

"Speak for yourself," Dorian replied without emotion.

The Fantom approached the hunter, the two watching the other as only men battling for dominance are prone to do. Suddenly the pistol thrown to the floor moments ago flew behind a bookcase, having been kicked by the villain. Unflinching, Mr. Q. remained standing, seemingly unfazed.

I looked up at our would-be assassins, my eyes then returning to the scene playing out before me. Mr. Quatermain turned slightly, his gaze flickering to one of the gunmen behind the Fantom.

A voice in the same direction shouted, and one of the henchmen attacked another. I, for one, surely found this turn of events unexpected, although hadn't the time to contemplate this phenomenon as my removal from the situation by Captain Nemo halted my observations. Undoubtedly due to the fact that I am a woman, men, especially those I now kept company with, feel the need to gallantly remove me from what they deem dangerous situations inappropriate for women despite any protests I may make. Admittedly in this particular scenario I made no objections at the time, remaining grateful that the Captain saw it fit to prevent me from being wounded at his own theoretical expense.

My hasty emancipation from the impeding skirmish powerfully forced the air out of my lungs.

"Oh!" I gasped. The good Captain hid us behind one of the numerous bookshelves as the automatic rifles sought their targets and the pages went flying. Though the Captain's close physical proximity would usually be deemed inappropriate, I hardly believed this to be the proper time to be _particularly_ mindful of etiquette.

Mr. Quatermain sheltered himself behind a neighboring shelf, shooting a man fool enough to follow him. Shielded by the Captain, I was prevented from fighting as well as from catching sight of what became of my unusual colleagues.

At the approach of more gunmen, Captain Nemo left me in order to confront them.

"Mrs. Harker, I request that you ensure your own safety and remain here at present," he asked politely before stepping away.

"Draw your pistol!" An assassin demanded.

Darkly calm, Nemo replied, "I walk a different path."

His combat with three armed men, the Captain was unprotected by firearms and chose instead to physically force his rivals into submission. After performing quite well considering the odds against him, the good Captain Nemo returned once more to my side. Apparently his ship, wherever –and whatever– it might be, was not the sole reason M chose Nemo to join our interesting League.

Dorian, meanwhile, made his way unhurriedly across the room. One of the gunmen observing this, released a shower of bullets into him.

"_Dorian!_" I cried. _No!_

I reached out, only to be restrained by Nemo. The death of Dorian Gray, especially right before my eyes, was unthinkable.

After waiting almost patiently for it to end, Dorian angled his head, removed the gun from his chest and stabbed his would-be killer.

"What are you?" The dying man asked.

"Complicated," was the chilly reply.

The battle seemed to end there, though I hadn't seen where the Fantom ran of too. Judging by Mr. Quatermain's absence, he wasn't alone. I remained where I was, taking stock of the situation and dusting myself off.

"I thought I was special. You're invulnerable to harm!" I heard Skinner exclaim with clear –and sickening– admiration.

"I don't like to boast," Dorian drawled. "What happened to Mina?"

"Oh she's probably hip-deep in some sort of trouble," Mr. Q. commented a shade too casually for my liking.

"Don't be such an alarmist, Mr. Q.," I said, reappearing and calmly rewrapping my scarf around my neck. "And my hips are-" I bent to retrieve my hat, "none of your business."

As I was about to rise once more, I found myself being yanked up by a man I presumed dead. One hand found itself at my waist, restraining me, the other held a knife to my throat.

**Chapter 4**

Facing them, I had a clear view of Dorian, Mr. Q., the Captain and a greasepainted Skinner draw their weapons, joined by another man approaching from my left.

"Shoot! Go on!" My captor yelled,

Slowly, all the weapons lowered, no one willing to take the risk.

"I guessed as much," he continued. "That they would do anything to protect _you_."

"See, now that's your biggest mistake," I purred softly, wrapping my hand around the knife as a growl rumbled at the back of my throat. "Thinking that I need them to protect me."

With one swift movement I pulled the knife away from my throat, turned, and sunk my teeth (or fangs, rather, though I dislike being overly indiscreet) into his neck.

His body dropped as I remained standing, my mouth covered with a stranger's blood. I hardly restrained myself from rolling my eyes in pure pleasure simply due to the fact that I had yet to finish and hadn't time to do that. With inhuman speed I followed his lifeless form to the floor and sucked his body dry, hot, red velvet trickling against my tongue and slipping down my throat.

Once finished, I rose and flung my head back, my hair soaring behind me as I stroked and cleaned my visage, licking my fingers of the remaining few drops. I have no doubt that my expression was one of pure ecstasy- _oh,_ but it was good.

"Extraordinary, I heard the Captain say, his voice wondering.

**Chapter 5**

Swiftly, I pulled out my compact to check my appearance. It would hardly do to look _and_ act gracelessly uncivilized. One, at least, I had control over, and thus began to tuck my hair behind my ears.

"Boy. They told me European women had funny ways." An unfamiliar young man approached me. "You missed a spot," he commented quietly, touching finger to the corner of his lips.

"Excuse me," I murmured, turning away to remove the blemish. I turned back, looking him over for the first time. "And you are?"

"Special Agent Sawyer. Of the American Secret Service," he replied with a twanging lilt. Simply outfitted in black and white, he wore a dark handkerchief around his neck, two smaller pistols around his shoulders and carried a larger rifle close to his vest.

"Then America's aware of the situation." Mr. Quatermain stated rather than asked, the answer standing before him.

"Well, war starts in Europe, how long is it gonna take until it crosses the Atlantic? I followed ya. I knocked out a straggler and took his place."

Ah, so here was the rogue assassin who aided in the commencement of the fight.

"_Very_ noble," Dorian said, a note of hidden irritation coloring his speech. "But this is a private party and you're not invited."

"Actually Dorian has declined," I amended somewhat hastily, my gaze wandering from the American agent to Dorian. I looked at the others. "So we are one shy of a full deck."

"On the contrary, the battle was just the spur I needed- that, and the thrill of a friendship renewed?" Was the smooth reply he gave, piercing me with a look full of catlike mischief as he made the statement into a question.

"Mm," I murmured, looking away. The manner in which he regarded had admittedly caught me slightly off guard. Surely he didn't think–?

"So you're not needed." He finished smugly, interrupting my thoughts.

"Winchester." Quatermain commented, handling the American's gun carefully.

"That's right. It's modified. American-style,"

"American-style shooting too." Mr. Q. handed the rifle back to its owner.

"Well, whatever it takes. If you like it, I brought two."

"You're in."

---

Guided by Dorian, we exited the battleground through a rear exit, abandoning the carnage left behind to be discovered by whomever may stumble upon it at a later date. The door opened to a metal staircase attached to the side of the building, terminating on a small private dock behind the emptied shops and residences.

"So. What's the next port of call?" Dorian asked with his usual marked lack of interest.

"Paris," the Captain replied, "Just one last member to recruit."

"Capture's more the word. And it will be quite the hunt."

"You make him sound like some kind of animal," I observed, as the hunter seemingly enjoyed a mildly amusing joke with himself.

"Oh speaking thus, Mrs. Harker," he stepped off the stairs hefting the gun he held into both hands as I passed, "your conduct, eh, a moment ago?" The gun pointed upward now, indicating the room from whence we descended.

"Indeed," Mr. Skinner added with a hint too much relish. "We were all _aquiver_ with curiosity."

I walked a distance away from the inquiring faces.

"Well," I began, as my hands tugged absentmindedly at the gloves I wore, "my husband was Jonathan Harker. Together with a professor called Van Helsing we fought a dangerous evil. It had a name – Dracula. He was Transylvanian."

"Mmm! European? One of those radicals the newspapers love to report on?"

I removed my gloves. "I don't know, Mr. Skinner," I replied, over my shoulder. "Is the vampiric sucking of people's blood radical behavior?"

I pulled back my collar, revealing the two puncture marks I so endeavored to conceal from the world, a brazen stamp of what it was that I had become. He fell silent under my gaze, forced to look away. As many had.

I too avoided the gazes of my fellows, disdainfully aware of their thoughts and desiring nothing to do with them– acknowledging it was an impossible feat, those same thoughts having everything to do with me. Thankfully their attention, as well as mine, was attracted to the unusual behavior of the water before us.

The Captain, followed by the American agent, walked down to the edge of the pier.

"Ah. Our transportation is forthcoming," he remarked.

"A boat?" The latter replied, his dubious thoughts reflected in his boyish face.

"It travels on water, if that's what you mean–

"And _beneath_ it."

"Woah," I heard the impressed Agent Sawyer breathe as suddenly, a gigantic dark shape emerged from beneath the water, followed by an elongated silver figure. Water cascaded down its sides in long powerful rivulets, the reflected moonlight illuminating the intricately wrought carvings along its massive length.

"Behold– Nautilus. The Sword of the Ocean.

"Next stop; Paris."

**Chapter 6**

I looked up from my desk where I wrote, a soft knock on the open door disrupting my trancelike concentration. The Captain stood solemnly before me, the silver embellishments he wore reflecting the electric lighting.

"Mr. Quatermain requests that we all meet to discuss the recruitment of the last League member," he informed me, gesturing to indicate I should exit before him.

"Thank you," I replied. Rising, I closed the book and capping my pen, I walked across the room and closed the door behind me. I was grateful he was not there with another invitation to join those who chose to eat together.

We progressed in silence for a few moments before he remarked, " Mrs. Harker, I am sorry if this seems insensitive, but I must ask for the safety of the League and my men- what kind of threat do your eating habits pose to us?" He halted and looked me unapologetically in the eye.

"None, I would hope," I answered. "I am not all vampire, Captain- I am a woman too. Though I am not in the habit of taking my meals with the rest of the League, I am not feeding on your men either, if that is what you are asking."

"And your plans for when you will?"

"I will harm no one on this ship, Captain Nemo." I said, continuing to calmly traverse towards our destination. "I give you my word."

---

Entering the large room adjacent to the bridge, Mr. Quatermain stood at the head of the table with his weathered hands on either side of a map of Paris the Captain had most likely lent him.

As everyone trickled in, he began.

"Thank you all for coming. The last League member we have to recruit is Dr. Jekyll. Or should I say, Mr. Hyde," Mr. Q. corrected himself, chuckling.

"Well which is it then?" Skinner asked.

"Both. Mr. Hyde has been terrorizing the streets of Paris for months and obviously is out of the control of local authorities. M. said that he inevitably ends up here," he continued, moving a hand to point out a spot on the map, "The Rue Morgue, presumably where he lives."

"As we speak, we are moving into the Bay of the Seine, a region of the English Channel where the Seine River, the same that runs through Paris, originates. We will begin moving downstream shortly after nightfall. The Bay is deep enough that there is no risk of being seen, but as we move in, we shall rely on the cover of darkness as the river grows shallower. We should be in Paris and in position around the time Mr. Hyde starts his rampage." Nemo traced our route on the map, his finger resting on our destination.

"While we wait, I will send my men to find where he lives. They will bring some of his things to a room in the ship for him. In the case that he does not agree to join us, he will, of course, be free to take them back."

"The Captain has offered to supply us with a net to capture Hyde."

"Hold on a sec," the American agent interrupted doubtfully, "a net? Isn't that kinda flimsy?"

"It is made out of sailing rope two inches thick." Nemo reassured him.

Mr. Q. picked up again. "We will hide it on the ground, since he operates on the rooftops. The net will be connected to the ship and Nemo has also offered us a flair- when we signal, he will give the order to reel in our prize."

"He will be held in one of the emptied rooms, a freezer, in the bottom of the ship where my men and I will guard him."

"So when're we gonna do it?" Mr. Skinner inquired with relish.

"Sawyer and I will conduct the hunt," Quatermain started.

"What of the rest of us?" I asked in surprise.

"You, Skinner and Mr. Gray will stay inside the ship to assist Captain Nemo as needed," Mr. Quatermain finished.

"Fine by me," Dorian replied, uninterestedly studying his nails.

"We stay in the ship to wait while you capture another criminal?" Mr. Skinner put forth smirking. "Stealth an' secrecy are out, then?"

"I do think our talents are more useful assisting you, Mr. Q.," I added.

"Yeah, I'm here t'see some action. And 'cause the action," Mr. Skinner said grinning, "can't see me."

"Gray, there will be no combat for you, and we need to capture him, not sneak around him, Skinner.

"As for you, Mrs. Harker," Quatermain continued, "this hunt's too dangerous for a woman- even one such as you," He added, as I began to protest. "Leave it to me."

I managed a reply as I struggled to contain my outrage. "Very well." My eyes flashed as I icily exited.

"Now Mina," Mr. Skinner drawled, drawing out my name, "someone seems to have a bit of a temper."

"Have I, Mr. Skinner?" I asked over my shoulder. "I'm sure your opinion of my demeanor will change if you chance to meet _others_ of my kind." Having said that, I took leave of the meeting and strode back to my quarters.

---

Once inside, I took a moment to calm my rising irritation. I reminded myself that tension would of course be present aboard _The Nautilus_, and it would never do to lose control, though lately I had come much too close for the woman in me to find comfortable. I had been more open with the League than I had liked, though necessary, and had shared more in those few sentences about my past than I had in the years since.

I'd had to contain my emotions, constantly guarding myself and those around me against the monster I'd become. Though I endeavored to be distant, I cannot deny that I had my moments of weakness. As I had previously mentioned, I am not all vampire, and I must be constantly on guard for something waiting to make its way down to the churning well of feelings I had buried long ago.

For that matter, what made him decide to accompany our unusual group? I had been, and still remained, perplexed that he joined the League, and wondered what the motivation behind the decision was.

However, this line of deliberation was hardly accomplishing any work, and I then decided to unpack the chemicals and supplies I had brought with me which would, at the very least, allow me to occupy my time. I walked to my belongings and knelt to carefully unlock the smallest trunk, placing its contents on a tray atop the bureau. Glass beakers, graduated cylinders, syringes and volumetric flasks emerged unhurriedly and were placed on top of one of the sets of drawers, as I had none to spare for breaking – though I had confidence that if I happened to accidentally overturn a vial that I would be able to catch it before it shattered, due to my…unusually fast reflexes. Of course the glassware would be relocated after the remainder of my things had been put in order, but their current location would have to do for now. There was no indication that there would be any disruptions due to sudden movement, and the likelihood of an accident to do any movement of mine [unlikely as it usually was], would be minimal in this location.

I walked back, closing and replacing the trunk, I then selected a second one. This contained my other tools; test tubes and their rack, tongs, tweezers, a Bunsen burner with fuel as well as various jars and containers, all of which I set up on one of the desks. Once finished, I made my way once more to my chemicals and chemical compounds, held in a padded case each was in a separate sealed container, leaving nothing to chance.

Silently taking not of the amount of each substance I was supplied with I selected three and closed the case. Placing them on my empty desk, I removed a beaker, syringe and graduated cylinder from their present location. I would need various mixtures to supply a modest chemistry laboratory, such as the one I was expected to create, and many of the chemicals were that of which I hadn't had time to myself make or purchase previous to my hasty recruitment. Arranging the materials I would need, I began the time-consuming exact science of mixing chemicals.

---

Not many hours later I had barely finished my work and my chemical laboratory space was in the process of becoming meticulously clean. A filtration system was in place, along with other various flasks and methods of distillation. Suddenly I was startled by a deep groan from within the ship as my surroundings began to tremble and vibrate.

Thankfully the movement came from the bowels of the ship and hindered me less than I had initially expected, though it had persisted for nearly an hour irritating me and causing my usually confident movement to be disturbed and uncertain, something I certainly did not appreciate. I had only to replace what materials I had used, and I did so amid the constant shaking of the vessel. Nearly finished, I poured the last of the methanol I had created into a clean container still above the chest of drawers.

The inhuman screams echoed horrifically throughout the ship, equally, if not more, unwelcome as the constant shaking. Pouring the last of the liquid into a jar, I thought back to Quatermain's infuriatingly pretentious and confident manner.

"This hunt's too dangerous for a woman, even one such as you." I imitated seething. "Leave it to me." Absolutely infuriating.

A particularly violent shake caught me by surprise and caused one of the empty flasks to fall and shatter before I could gather myself to catch it. Startled, I steadied the remaining glassware and glanced about uncertainly. Who –or _what_- had Agent Sawyer and Mr. Quatermain capture? I decided to inquire and assist [if absolutely necessary] and exited the room, remembering to remove my jacket from the four-poster. I blew out the desk lamp, though left the electric lighting running.

The ship was a comfortable temperature, but I had recalled that the Caption mentioned Mr. Hyde being kept in an emptied space in a freezing room. Soon, with the assistance of one of Nemo's crewmembers, I had found my way to the source producing the uproar. Noticing the chilled air emancipating from the walls, I pulled on my overcoat as I approached.

"The great white hunter's bagged his prize," I heard Mr. Skinner remark from a short distance away. He and Dorian rounded a corner and came into view before me, as we each reached our journey's end. At that moment amid the clanging and bellowing, another of the Captain's men was thrown out the door, hitting the wall opposite and crumpled, groaning, at my feet. Taken aback, I looked down at him for a moment, then back up as Dorian spoke again.

"Or the prize bagged him." He entered with a cynical smile followed by Mr. Skinner. Doubtfully I wondered what creature would throw a man out of a door and looked in hesitantly before entering, unsure if it was a desirable meeting I was about to partake in.

Upon our entrance, Mr. Q., pacing, held up a hand.

"Stand back if you value your life," he warned over the roars of the beast behind him.

If one would describe the figure before me, he was certainly of a beastlike exterior. Apelike in stance and build, Mr. Hyde had a thick brow ridge, similar to our _homo erectus_ ancestors. He was chained to the walls while still other chains were held by men with harpoons whom he threw with ease.

He tossed another man down and Mr. Skinner ducked to avoid a metal chain, slipping and falling on the iced floor. Dorian assisted him as Mr. Hyde continued to flail about and send even more of Nemo's crew flying.

"Ow!" Skinner looked down at his gloved hand then up I presumed accusingly at Dorian. "You scratched me."

"Better me than him," he replied knowingly.

Agent Sawyer walked pass, closer to the latest recruit than I believed to be in the best interests of his health and well being.

"Well. This is nice." Dorian commented with a hint of boredom coloring his voice.

Observing the fact that the current arrangement was not working, Quatermain took control once more, pacing with his catch.

"Mr. Hyde, you've done terrible things in England," he began as the former quieted. "So terrible that you've fled the country."

Mr. Hyde yanked at one of the chains and roared, quieter this time, and continued pacing.

"And I'm ashamed to say that Her Majesty's government is willing to offer you amnesty –in return for your services.

"Do you want to go home?"

"Home?" His voice startled me, it's tone rougher and more menacing due to his subdued tone. "Home's where the heart is, that's what they say. And I have been missing London so. Its sorrow is as sweet to me as a rare wine." His eyes closed for a brief moment, evidently savoring the memory of the misfortune London held.

"I'm yours." He said, addressing Mr. Quatermain with a devilish grin.

Becoming aware of my facial expression, I couldn't help but marvel at my vulnerability to this beast. Though in my way I had my strengths, his was pure muscle and I could see how he could easily overpower any of us.

"Hm," I said, raising an eyebrow and cocking my head slightly. The thought was an intriguing one as due to my, condition, I am hardly prone to feeling vulnerable, a state in which I was spending an alarmingly increased amount of time.

He looked at our presumably stunned expressions.

"Don't be afraid." Grinning wolfishly, he turned.

"Who says I'm afraid?" Sawyer asked, a hint of his confidence returning.

"YOU DO!" Yelled Hyde, swinging a chain loose from the wall at us.

"Ooh!" I exclaimed, jerking my torso a sharp ninety degrees away, the metal narrowly missing myself and the others standing in front of me.

"YOU STINK OF FEAR!" He spat.

"Quite the parlor trick," Dorian said, recovering the fastest.

Hyde straightened. "You wait to see my next one." His faced pained, he twisted his neck and let out a groan. Opening his eyes, he leered at the group watching him in fixation. Suddenly a bright flash of light caused me to stumble back as he flailed about his voice howling with pain. Between bright flashes of light Hyde was slowly changing. As his animalistic shrieks became more and more human, his form followed.

Taken aback, I realized that this must have been what Mr. Q. was referring to earlier when he said glibly that we would be catching two men. How horrific. What was left of my emotion that was not frozen in astonished fascination pitied the poor man who was trapped inside this…monster.

Finally a gasping man emerged, collapsing under the weight of the metal he wore.

I watched him in openmouthed shock, my head sidelengths as he gasped for breath.

Shedding the Captains chains, he stood, clutching his too-large and now shredded pants about him.

"Doctor Jekyll…at your service," he panted.

"So." Quatermain said a moment later with a slight wry smile. "The League is set."

The Captain nodded. Something chimed nearby, and he looked down, pulling a paper strip off of what I assumed was a transmitter from the way he seemed to read the paper. A message, no doubt, coded and sent from another part of the ship to its Captain.

"So is the date for the conference," he reported. "We have three days."

"Three days? Can this canoe do that?" Sawyer asked laughing slightly with an incredulous look.

"You underestimate the Nautilus, sir." The Captain replied, smiling faintly. "You underestimate her greatly."

"Well I hope so," came the reply, "'cause we gotta date in Italy."

**Chapter 7**

I turned, hearing someone approach. No, not just someone-

"Mina," Dorian began, sauntering over. Though for a moment I contemplated maintaining my silence, I abandoned the thought, reminding myself to retain my ladylike behavior even -if not especially- in his presence.

"Hello, Dorian." I said, gazing once more over the water, the fresh breeze of the open ocean now tainted with his scent. I had hoped to gaze outward during this time above the water in peace, but apparently to no avail.

"I hope you're finding the journey to your liking?" He asked with a smirk.

"What is it that you want?" Turning my head, I looked at him piercingly over my shoulder. I am not one for mindless conversation, and he knew that.

He arched a brow. In mock surprise he said, "Now Mina, why is it that you always think I want something from you?"

"Don't flatter yourself, Dorian." I knew what he had in mind by the way that he tried toying with me. Folding my hands neatly behind my back, I ended the conversation and walked away from the ship's railing, leaving him in his own company.

"Fortune rewards the bold," Agent Sawyer said optimistically to Mr. Quatermain as I walked by. Though he was unaware, I had indeed heard his youthfully overconfident remark, due to my unusually sensitive hearing.

"If you require help during the voyage, Mrs. Harker, just let me know." He told me. I noted both the boyish self-assurance in his voice and the crooked smile he wore as well as the purposeful placement of my –now former- marital title before my surname, something I assumed was a subtle sign of respect acknowledging the fact that I was an older, wiser and widowed woman.

In spite of myself, I was amused. Still a trifle too cocky for my taste, though. "I'm curious how you think you'll assist me, Agent Sawyer," I said.

He thought for a moment. "Heavy lifting." Opening the door below decks with an audible grunt, his smile then returned as he continued. "Light banter. I'm a useful kind of guy."

I smiled. "You're sweet," I stated, smiling. My grin fading, I added, "And you're young. Neither are traits I hold in high regard."

His smile faltered as I descended and walked to my chambers.

It was best, of course, as it was in all situations, to conduct myself in as much a ladylike manner as possible, especially due to Dorian's presence aboard _The Nautilus_. I suspected he had kept his silence in regards to our past for his own reasons, of course, and I knew that if he decided to make certain information public the remainder of the League would most certainly inquire about it.

Thinking of our past experiences reminded me of Agent Sawyer's hope for future ones. Being the only female passenger upon the "Sword of the Ocean" as the Captain affectionately called it, I was well aware that certain responsibilities accompanied my presence. When there is one woman in a shared domain, I of course knew that romantic implications could become apparent, as did Mr. Quatermain, indicated by his comment about women on his "past exploits." Naturally I knew he was right –in some respects- about the dangers of being the sole woman. Though I could fully take care of myself, I knew that any romantic insinuations, unless handled with extreme delicacy, could spell disaster for the League, and even disband us- a fate the world could hardly afford.


	2. Chapter 8

**A/N: Sorry it's been so long, I'm incredibly busy. As for the story, I don't own anything related to LXG except for this story, and I've taken a few liberties with the dialogue, etc. In a lot of the movie there are quite a few irregularities- for example, I believe Dr. Jekyll was gay, and yet he was lusting after Mina? And she doesn't know that it's magnesium phosphATE, a basic chemist's naming rule. So I've changed some things, yes. Being an advanced chem student a lot of the chemistry references really bother me, so I'm going to painstakingly correct them and cringe.

* * *

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My time aboard the Nautilus had been lengthy enough for me to successfully observe that, should anything of importance occur, I would be swiftly notified. Noting this, I decided it was an appropriate time to resume my work. The heavy velvet of my overcoat resting safely on a hook, my skirts flitted about me as I perched myself atop the desk chair inside my chambers, reaching then for a slide, antiseptic, and a needle. I opened a tin of cotton swabs and dipped on end into the antiseptic, swabbing my finger and needle. Calmly, I stabbed myself and quickly squeezed out a few drops onto the slide before the tiny prick healed. Sliding the second glass plate atop the sample, I examined the slide before me and finding it adequate, placed it under the microscope, my eye at the lens. Though perhaps to a less observant view it would appear an unremarkable sample, I had studied my own blood extensively and knew of the differences between it and that of the rest of the world's. Indeed, I was able to label myself so uniquely because, as far as I had researched, I had yet to discover another of my kind. Among all of the humans and demons, there seemed only to be me wavering on the cusp of each world. I could, unfortunately, recall the unpleasant sensation of the venom's travel through my veins and from previous experiments I had drawn the conclusion that my "unique assets," so to speak, originated from the flow intended to beat hearts – instead of still them.

I continued to examine the drops I had most recently shed, deciding on another measure of testing its extensive properties. Opening the door, I began to heat the sulfuric acid I had created, ensuring that the fumes were, in part, exiting the room.

Despite the fact that I'd no reason to bother myself with the fatal effects of the vapors, I knew that being such a strong acid if the gas was to be concentrated it would have a highly negative impact upon the air purification system aboard the ship. It's potential to disperse unlikely, it would quickly become a notable hazard.

Not long after I had begun heating the beaker containing the solution, I head a knock on the open door. I swiftly closed my notebook and extinguished the flame, the Captain's stony face watching me.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Harker," he greeted me with his usual solemn courtesy. "I came upon this powder in the bridge, by the wheels. I was hoping that you would be able to identify it."

"Of course, Captain," I replied with a tight smile and received from him a small sample of black powder.

"It is as much as was left behind I was able to gather."

"Thank you, it is quite enough. I shall begin work on it immediately."

"Please send word to me as soon as you reach a conclusion, Mrs. Harker, I am anxious to hear your results." Bowing once, he left.

Clearing away the slides and acid, I began afresh with the mysterious substance. First observing its visible qualities, I noted the visible attributes of the substance. Detecting no scent, I quickly tasted it – bitter, and somewhat burnt. Although the rule to never taste an unknown substance remains one of the most upheld of the rules of chemistry, this was due to the danger such behavior presented to my less resilient counterparts. I had recently begun to cultivate the ability to identify a varied array of chemical compounds by taste, a skill many would think a ludicrous but for one in my position, an advantageous reality. I had, however, suffered ill effects after ingesting a good number of the assorted compounds, the negative impacts merely temporary side effects.

The taste was something I had yet to recognize. Thus far inconclusive, I mentally created a list of experiments to discover the compound's identity.

---

A few hours later I nearly had my answer – one last test would confirm my theory to which compound it would be.

Just as I began, I sensed someone at the door. The stagnant, somewhat acidic air slowly brought the scent to me only after the voice drifted my way –neither I needed.

In one motion I pushed my skirt over my exposed leg, continuing with the other hand to write the details of the test I had completed.

"Mina."

"I'm identifying a powder that Nemo found," I explained unperturbed, chemist's tongs reaching for a test tube and placing a small amount of powder inside. It reacted with a fizz, dissipating into the liquid as it turned a brown color, similar to that of bromine gas.

I tapped it twice. "Ohmm. Magnesium phosphate. Photographers use it to create a flash," I added for the mutual benefit of both my company and myself.

"A camera, perhaps?" Dorian suggested, sauntering forward.

"It appears that someone wishes to capture this vessel's secrets."

Still facing the filtration system and analysis supplies, I replaced the solution in the test tube rack before me and a lid atop it's proper container before raking the rest of the Mg3P2 onto a paper. That I placed in another tin on the chance I may need call upon it again; after all, one never knows what may happen – especially in circumstances as unusual as those I had recently found myself in.

I broke the silence that had settled upon us, however momentarily.

"You know, I was surprised that you ultimately _joined _the League," I remarked, turning finally to look at him. "You were a – a selfish man, Dorian. This task requires heroes."

He looked at me, a slightly amused grin playing about the corner of his lips. "You consider yourself a hero too, then?" The smile dropped with his eyes as he avoided my piercing gaze. Almost repentantly he haltingly continued, "I mean to…undo the flaws in my character.

"I want to face my demons," he added to himself, an introspective challenge.

"And what do you know of demons?" I asked over my glasses, deadly serious.

"Do you recall a space on the wall of my home?" Dorian asked rhetorically, as he began to pace with feverishly wandering empty eyes that played out the past. I stared, transfixed by his words as he continued – "A picture was missing.

"Although the picture is my portrait, I doubt you'd recognize the face upon it. Every year that passes, y portrait ages – instead of me."

"When did you last see it?" I inquired.

"I dare not look upon it myself…or the magic of he painting would be undone." Pulling out a leather clad flask, he took a short draught.

"Haaa…" he breathed. "Nightcap?" He offered, raising the flask.

I stood. "I'm not much of a drinker," I responded lightly. Walking to a trunk beside the four-poster, I went to replace a book I took from the desk – and to remove myself from his intoxicating presence.

I stood there only a moment, recomposing myself, recollecting my resolve as my hands nimbly clicking the multiple clasps into place. I heard him approach from behind, heard the splash of liquid against glass. Turning once more to face him, I hadn't realized how rapidly he had closed the gap between us. My nostrils flared ever so slightly as my breath shortened. I could smell him, hear his heart pumping the viscous fluid- Eyes widened, my pupils dilating in a primal fear of predator, a faint spark of desire my startled reaction.

"Just a small one then," he said, offering it up. As I looked at him, in the back of my mind I was vaguely aware that this man knew the strength of my physical reaction to him much better than I would ever feel comfortable with, knew how to trigger a passion buried long ago, was a constant threat even to my mental stability, above all things which I valued.

His physical proximity hardly conductive to my struggle to keep my presence of mind, unsure, I looked at the small tumbler of amber liquid, his face, and once more to the drink he offered so temptingly – I knew I could, if I wanted –

Unconsciously my hand moved to the glass he still held, waiting, bringing it tensely to my lips.

The glass shattered, cutting my fingers and I flinched, the tension of the moment too great.

"How clumsy of me," I nearly stuttered, almost unwittingly licking my fingers.

"We don't want blood everywhere," he said softly, pulling the handkerchief from his breast pocket. "Do we."

As he held the cloth around my hand and my hand in his gaze,

"No," I replied hazily, shaking my head. "Not blood."

His eyes met mine. I wavered for a moment before closing the distance between our lips. His hand cupped my head as I forced him back against the side of the four-poster, one hand holding the cloth to a wound already gone, another tightly gripping his lapel. A second hand clutched my waist closer as my eyes closed, losing myself in the sensation.


End file.
